there, stay with him.”
“What about you?”
“Go,” he muttered. “Just go.”
She went, hobbling as fast as she could. Lannes glided toward the front door, listening hard. Hearing nothing but the wind. He stretched out his senses, feeling for the passage of another, the passage of a stranger.
All he found on the front steps was a piece of paper weighed down with a rock. He did not need to pick it up to read its message. The letters were large, bold, and in black.
FIND ORWELL PRICE, he read.
And at the bottom, RUN.
Chapter Five
The lights were off in Frederick’s room when the woman knocked and entered. She heard a man’s voice reciting from a book. Fredrick, stretched on the bed and illuminated by light from the hall, immediately sat up and turned on a bedside lamp. He clapped his hands and the audio shut off.
“What do you want?” he asked, with such tension that the woman realized with utter certainty that he did not trust her-that he might even be afraid of her. This was such a bizarre relief, such a pure gasp of normal, she had to lean against the door to catch her breath. Maybe no one here wanted to hurt her, after all. Maybe, just maybe, she had found herself a real, honest Good Samaritan.
“Lannes told me to come up here,” she whispered. “Someone might have broken in.”
The old man threw back his covers and rolled out of bed. He moved with enviable grace. “He’s down there now?”
“He said to wait here.”
Frederick gave her a sharp look and swept past. “Do you listen to everything strangers tell you?”
“Apparently not,” she muttered, and followed him. Not far, though. Lannes was already running up the stairs. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes held a look that made the woman feel as though she were seeing dead bodies all over again. Something terrible, awful. Horrific.
“Pack a bag,” Lannes said to Frederick. “I’m taking you to a hotel.”
The old man froze. “Excuse me?”
“A bag. Anything you need. Five minutes.” He pushed Frederick toward his room and flipped on the overhead light, glancing back at the woman. “You and I need to talk.”
Her feet throbbed. So did her heart. “What happened?”
Lannes pulled a crumpled note from his pocket and showed it to her. Her knees buckled. Lannes caught her arm. She began to lean against him and he pushed her firmly toward the wall.
“I don’t know what that means,” she murmured, pain threading through her skull.
“I think the meaning is self-explanatory,” he replied tersely. “Do you know this name?”
“No.” She pushed herself toward the stairs, desperate. “I should go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He moved fast for a man his size, and blocked her path. His eyes were intense, searching. She wanted to hit him, to scream in his face, but her throat felt too full for words, and her hands, curled into fists, dug against her stomach. She was trying to hold in her fear.
“This message was not just for you,” he said quietly.
“You’re wrong,” she told him, hoarse. “You don’t understand. I was left a similar note. Earlier.”
“Run,” he breathed, as though the word meant something to him beyond the note in his hand.
“Run,” she agreed. “But just me. Not you. I don’t know anything about finding a man.”
He leaned in. “Who would do this? Do you have any idea?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“What don’t you remember?”
“Everything,” she whispered, horrified at herself. “Just that I woke up in a hotel room, and there was smoke, and bodies-”
Her voice crumpled. So did her face, tears breaking free. She tried to speak again, but all that came out was a hoarse cracking sound, and she sagged against the wall, bent over her stomach, hands pressed against her mouth. Fighting herself. Fighting grief. Ashamed for not being stronger.
Lannes crouched, keeping his distance. The woman could not meet his eyes. She was too afraid of what she would
“What about you?”
“Go,” he muttered. “Just go.”
She went, hobbling as fast as she could. Lannes glided toward the front door, listening hard. Hearing nothing but the wind. He stretched out his senses, feeling for the passage of another, the passage of a stranger.
All he found on the front steps was a piece of paper weighed down with a rock. He did not need to pick it up to read its message. The letters were large, bold, and in black.
FIND ORWELL PRICE, he read.
And at the bottom, RUN.
Chapter Five
The lights were off in Frederick’s room when the woman knocked and entered. She heard a man’s voice reciting from a book. Fredrick, stretched on the bed and illuminated by light from the hall, immediately sat up and turned on a bedside lamp. He clapped his hands and the audio shut off.
“What do you want?” he asked, with such tension that the woman realized with utter certainty that he did not trust her-that he might even be afraid of her. This was such a bizarre relief, such a pure gasp of normal, she had to lean against the door to catch her breath. Maybe no one here wanted to hurt her, after all. Maybe, just maybe, she had found herself a real, honest Good Samaritan.
“Lannes told me to come up here,” she whispered. “Someone might have broken in.”
The old man threw back his covers and rolled out of bed. He moved with enviable grace. “He’s down there now?”
“He said to wait here.”
Frederick gave her a sharp look and swept past. “Do you listen to everything strangers tell you?”
“Apparently not,” she muttered, and followed him. Not far, though. Lannes was already running up the stairs. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes held a look that made the woman feel as though she were seeing dead bodies all over again. Something terrible, awful. Horrific.
“Pack a bag,” Lannes said to Frederick. “I’m taking you to a hotel.”
The old man froze. “Excuse me?”
“A bag. Anything you need. Five minutes.” He pushed Frederick toward his room and flipped on the overhead light, glancing back at the woman. “You and I need to talk.”
Her feet throbbed. So did her heart. “What happened?”
Lannes pulled a crumpled note from his pocket and showed it to her. Her knees buckled. Lannes caught her arm. She began to lean against him and he pushed her firmly toward the wall.
“I don’t know what that means,” she murmured, pain threading through her skull.
“I think the meaning is self-explanatory,” he replied tersely. “Do you know this name?”
“No.” She pushed herself toward the stairs, desperate. “I should go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He moved fast for a man his size, and blocked her path. His eyes were intense, searching. She wanted to hit him, to scream in his face, but her throat felt too full for words, and her hands, curled into fists, dug against her stomach. She was trying to hold in her fear.
“This message was not just for you,” he said quietly.
“You’re wrong,” she told him, hoarse. “You don’t understand. I was left a similar note. Earlier.”
“Run,” he breathed, as though the word meant something to him beyond the note in his hand.
“Run,” she agreed. “But just me. Not you. I don’t know anything about finding a man.”
He leaned in. “Who would do this? Do you have any idea?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“What don’t you remember?”
“Everything,” she whispered, horrified at herself. “Just that I woke up in a hotel room, and there was smoke, and bodies-”
Her voice crumpled. So did her face, tears breaking free. She tried to speak again, but all that came out was a hoarse cracking sound, and she sagged against the wall, bent over her stomach, hands pressed against her mouth. Fighting herself. Fighting grief. Ashamed for not being stronger.
Lannes crouched, keeping his distance. The woman could not meet his eyes. She was too afraid of what she would
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